"I'll Be Seeing You," by Elizabeth Berg

Elizabeth Berg always writes beautifully about women’s lives, families, love, relationships, and so much more in her novels. I have just read her memoir about her parents’s old age, illness, and death, and it is as beautifully written as her novels, and all the more poignant for being Berg’s own painful family story. The memoir is titled “I’ll Be Seeing You” (Random House, 2020). It is a short book (under 200 smallish pages) but packed with a combination of realism and emotion. Berg says she wondered if it was acceptable to tell her parents’ intimate story in this way, but concluded that what happened in their lives, and the lives of their children, was something that happens to so many people, and is perhaps not written about in this candid way often enough. Berg herself is 70, as she notes, and her parents were in their late 80s and early 90s when the events of their story happened. So Berg is not only thinking of her parents’ decline, but is also reminded that her own struggles with aging will come in the not too distant future as well. Her father is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and her mother – who was always dearly loved and taken care of by her strong and doting husband – is having a very difficult time adjusting. This comes out as a kind of simmering anger at her husband and at the situation, an attitude which bewilders him. Berg and her sister persuade her parents that they have to leave the house where they have lived for decades, and move into an independent living facility. The move is especially hard on Berg’s mother. Berg finds herself upset with her mother for not trying harder to adapt to the new situation. She and her sister have long gripe sessions about their mother. Yet of course they dearly love both parents; it is just that no one is happy with the developments, and no one quite knows what to do or how to feel. The memoir ends with both parents dying, first Berg’s father and then her mother. The parents and the daughters have by that time more or less adjusted to their evolving situation. But there is no glossing over the pain and difficulty of the situation for the whole family. Berg is very good at capturing the complexities and contradictions of everyone’s experiences and feelings. My family, like so many families, has had some experience with aging parents and of dilemmas related to aging, illness, and decline, and although the specifics of our stories are different, there are definitely common strands that resonate for me, and, I am sure, that resonate for many readers. There is no denying the often wrenching nature of the changes -- whether to a greater or lesser extent -- that old age brings, both for the aging people themselves and for their families. Berg's memoir provides no magical answers, but offers the validation and comfort of sharing common human experiences.

Two story collections: "Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self," by Danielle Evans, and "World Gone Missing," by Laurie Ann Doyle

Today I am writing briefly about two books of short stories that I have read recently. On 1/12/21, I wrote about how struck I was by the power and vividness of Danielle Evans’ 2020 short story collection, intriguingly titled “The Office of Historical Corrections.” I was so impressed by that collection that I obtained her earlier book of stories, “Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self” (Riverhead, 2010), and was equally impressed by it. By the way, those are both great titles, aren’t they? The 2010 book was blurbed as “stunningly confident,” “fearless,” and “bold,” and I completely agree with those assessments; those qualities stand out. The stories are mostly about young African-American women who experience various dilemmas. Even though the dilemmas often include common ones related to sex, pregnancy, and money, they are in no way predictable. The second short story collection I read recently is “World Gone Missing” (Regal, 2017), by Laurie Ann Doyle. The author lives in the San Francisco Bay Area, and her stories are set there (here, for me! And you know I always like San Francisco settings for fiction!). As the title implies, in each story someone is looking for someone else who is missing – a father, a brother, a friend, a lost love, a birth mother. The stories are sad, yet the feelings of the characters are more complex than just sadness; their feelings include frustration, loss, and even an unexpected sense of freedom. Both of these story collections are truly engrossing and thought-provoking, and I recommend both of them, even for those readers who don’t usually gravitate to short stories.

RIP Nawal El Saadawi

I write in tribute to the late, great Nawal El Saadawi, physician, writer, feminist, activist, advocate for women, who died on March 22, 2021, at the age of 89. Her work was pathbreaking in her own country, Egypt, as well as throughout the Middle East and the world. She was a brave woman, always speaking out her truth, even when it was dangerous for her. Among other indignities and frightening experiences that she suffered were being jailed by Anwar Sadat in 1981 for protests against the Egyptian government, as well as receiving death threats. She dared to write about women’s sexuality, including in her first book, “Women and Sex.” She fought social and religious restrictions put on women, including fighting against genital mutilation. Meanwhile she wrote over fifty works of fiction and nonfiction; her work was translated into over forty languages. She received many honors, including being on the cover of Time magazine. But she was never given honors in her own country, Egypt. I first read some of El Saadawi’s work in my college days, and as a woman and feminist, I was struck by, and so admired, her work. What a difference she made in the lives of so many women! Thank you, Nawal El Saadawi!

Two Mysteries: "One by One," by Ruth Ware, and "The Mystery of Mrs. Christie," by Marie Benedict

Regular readers of this blog may remember that I have had a lifelong on-again, off-again relationship with mystery novels. Some of my favorites as a young girl were the Nancy Drew books, and later most of Agatha Christie’s work, leading into the mysteries of Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, and other British and Commonwealth authors. Still later I devoured the books of several California women authors that featured California women detectives, such as Marcia Muller’s Sharon McCone and Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone. Other favorite mystery writers over the years included Anne Perry, P.D. James, Elizabeth George, Jacqueline Winspear, Deborah Crombie, and so many more. I have read probably hundreds of mysteries over the years. But I have also had several long periods of being tired of mysteries and not reading them. After one such period, I recently picked up a couple. Unfortunately, neither was very satisfying. The first, “One by One” (Scout Press/Simon and Schuster, 2020), was my first book by the popular Ruth Ware. It plays on the theme and plot of Agatha Christie’s famous book “And Then There Were None,” and is expertly plotted. It takes place in an isolated ski resort in the French Alps, where the leadership of an English tech firm gathers. As a storm and avalanche shut them in, the tensions among the techies play out in deadly ways. It kept my attention, but there is something empty about the story and book, at least for me. In an unplanned connection, the other book in this genre that I read almost immediately after the first was Marie Benedict’s “The Mystery of Mrs. Christie” (Sourcebooks, 2021). This novel is an imagined version of a true story: Agatha Christie’s never-explained eleven-day disappearance. The author treats the absence as a mystery to be solved, and gradually gives readers background information that eventually leads to a somewhat satisfying if a little too cerebral resolution. The strong point of the book is its thoughtful insights into the characters’ motivations and emotions. But although I enjoyed this book much more than the first one, it didn’t make me want to start reading more mysteries again. Maybe in a couple of years…following my lifelong pattern…who knows when the yen for mysteries will reappear…

Happy 125th Birthday, New York Times Book Review

The New York Times Book Review (NYTBR) is 125 years old this year. I have been reading it for decades, and it is an absolute essential in my life. Sadly, I don’t have time to read the paper version of the New York Times, although I do subscribe online and skim it, but I was excited, many years ago, to discover that one could subscribe separately to the NYTBR and have it delivered by mail. I read book reviews and stories about books and authors elsewhere as well: in the San Francisco Chronicle and the Washington Post; in magazines such as the Atlantic, the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Ms., the Nation, the Progressive, and Mother Jones; and on various online sites. (I used to subscribe to the New York Review of Books, but at a certain point I grew tired of it. I have occasionally subscribed for a year or two to the London Review of Books, the Threepenny Review, and other such publications, and enjoyed them but not enough to continue subscribing.) But the most focused, consistent source of reviews is the NYTBR. It comes weekly, and it is full of reviews as well as interesting features (e.g., “By the Book,” with its interviews of authors and others) that give booklovers an inside glimpse into the world of books and authors. When I receive my latest copy, and notice that it reviews a book by one of my favorite writers, or on a topic of interest to me, I get excited. Yes, I am a book nerd. But you knew that already. Naturally, like any periodical, the NYTBR has not gotten everything right. In a recent (2/26/21) NYT article, critic Parul Sehgal explores the archives, and finds numerous examples of racial and gender imbalance, stereotypes, and worse, especially far in the past, but even recently. For example, a survey of 2011 reviews showed that 90% of the 750 books reviewed were by White authors. Throughout the years, books by Black authors were often judged by different standards than those by White authors. Books by female authors were reviewed with condescension and double standards. There is also a history of negative reviews of books by queer authors, and/or with queer characters. These disparities and prejudices make me angry and upset. I can only take solace in the fact that more and more attention has been drawn to the disparities, not only at the NYTBR, but by publications and authors elsewhere, including in academe, and that awareness has led to change…still not enough, but tangible and increasing change that I have observed in my lifetime (and I have been observing closely and with strong feelings!). Despite everything, I treasure the NYTBR, and am grateful for all I have learned from it, and for all the enjoyment it has given me. Here’s to many many more years of reviews, features, and the ever-more-inclusive celebration of the world of books.

From "At the Edge of the Haight" to "Running the Tides" at San Francisco's Sea Cliff

As regular readers know, I live in San Francisco (well, just north of the Golden Gate Bridge), and work there (except during these pandemic times, during which I work from home). I love the city and the Bay Area. I am always happy to read novels set in San Francisco. Very recently, without planning it, I found myself reading two new novels set there. Both are about girls/young women living in San Francisco, but their lives are very different. The main character in “At the Edge of the Haight” (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2021), by Katherine Seligman, is 20-year-old Maddy, who is homeless, estranged from her family, and lives mostly in Golden Gate Park. The novel portrays her life, and those of her young companions, in a (seemingly, at least) realistic way that such lives are seldom portrayed. Although one worries about Maddy, she is strong and admirable in many ways. The story contains a mystery - a death to which Maddy is a witness - and is compelling. The other novel, which I read immediately after the first one, is “We Run the Tides” (Ecco, 2021), by Vendela Vida, who is active in San Francisco literary circles. Her young heroine, Eulabee, aged 13, lives in the affluent Sea Cliff neighborhood of San Francisco, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the ocean. Although from a middle class family, less affluent than many of their neighbors, she attends an elite private girl’s school, a barely disguised version of an actual school in that area. She and her friends are privileged. But, as with Maddy, there are undercurrents, problems, and frightening situations in their lives. Both novels deal with young women’s lives, families, friendships, entanglements, insecurities, and fears. Both girls/young women are strong. Eulabee’s life is certainly not as hard as Maddy’s, and she is fortunate not only in her schooling and friends but also in her close family. But in some ways the similarities, especially their vulnerabilities as young females, jump out at the reader as much as the differences. Both novels and, especially, their settings felt very familiar to me in some ways. The setting of the first one, in the Haight and the East (grubbier) end of Golden Gate Park, is only a few blocks from the university where I teach. The setting of the other novel is also familiar to me from when I lived in an adjacent (middle-class) San Francisco neighborhood, many years ago, before I moved north of the Bridge. The school that Eulabee attended is known as the rival of the other best-known all-girls private school in the city, the one that my daughter attended. Both writers allude to well-known areas and personalities (e.g., Danny Glover, the late Robin Williams) in the city. But I admire both books not just because of their familiar San Francisco settings, but mainly because each is well-written, and “gets” the lives of young women, no matter their socioeconomic status.

RIP Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Many of us thought, with a kind of magical thinking, that Lawrence Ferlinghetti would always be with us. But the wonderful Beat poet, publisher, free speech advocate, bookstore proprietor, and longterm resident of San Francisco’s legendary North Beach, died February 22, 2021, at the age of 101. He is famous not only for his own poetry, but for such highlights as publishing Allen Ginsburg’s incendiary “Howl and Other Poems” in 1956, for which action Ferlinghetti was tried for obscenity but fortunately won the case due to a judge’s saying the poem had “redeeming social significance.” Ferlinghetti was enormously supportive to fellow poets. Perhaps his most powerful and lasting legacy is the City Lights Bookstore, opened in 1953 and still drawing visitors (pilgrims, in a sense) from all over the world. The bookstore was and is a center for literature and political activism. He received many honors over the years, including being chosen as San Francisco’s first Poet Laureate, and having the alley behind City Lights named for him. He will be honored and missed by those around the world who love poetry. His poetry collection, “A Coney Island of the Mind,” is still the most popular poetry book in the United States, with more than one million copies in print. He will always have a particular place in the heart of San Franciscans. To honor him upon his death, San Francisco Mayor London Breed spoke of “the immense power of his work” and of “his commitment to this city and its people,” and ordered the flag at City Hall to be flown at half mast. Countless people have been influenced by Ferlinghetti. I remember that when I moved to San Francisco as a young adult, decades ago, one of the first places I wanted to visit and pay tribute to was City Lights Bookstore. I was in awe of the place, with its vast variety of literary and political works, and its welcoming atmosphere. Thank you, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, for all you did and all you meant to so many people for so long. (My thanks to the San Francisco Chronicle for the information provided in its several articles about Ferlinghetti’s life and death.)